The Diary of Draco Malfoy
by celestinne
Summary: *chapter 9 updated* This takes place during mid-1200s, during the colorful medieval era. In chapter 9, Harry ( actually, the rest of them ) pop THE question, and Draco is having trouble getting the idea. H/D slash.
1. Chapter 1

The Diary of Draco Malfoy 

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I think it's obvious by now... 

October 15 

I have decided to keep account of my daily experiences for I know that I shall be quite famous later on, even more than now, and that you would all soon be clamoring for my autobiography. 

So maybe that's not why. But I hate to see a good load of powdered vellum go to waste. Mother said it would improve my already excellent vocabulary, and father said it would keep me from blowing up the kitchen or spying on the little Weasley girl while she is bathing in the river. 

Fine, then. I shall decide upon our name. Benjamin. Very upper crust and refined indeed. 

Nothing of importance happened today. 

October 16 

The first shipment of brooms has arrived. Brooms, Benjamin, are also made for flying. This model can raise up to 20 feet and has the speed of a running man. Thanks, but no thanks, I would rather tire myself running than buy that trash, it looks sick! 

They took them first into our manor so that they can be tested. You never know, these might just kill someone, if they're stupid enough. Father said that he is of superb skill and intellect and can handle this " new technology " gadgets. Kiss my hide. 

The testing went on very well for me. Father skidded three times on the grass and one on the stone pavement. I must tell the servants to get rid of the grass. 

For laughing hard till my sides ache, I was whipped on the rump. They think an M looks very nice on me. 

October 17 

Decided on the 1st model's name. Lucius 1257. Not very original, Draconus would have been a more suitable one. Father slapped me on the forehead for saying that. 

And he always says that I should be proud of my name. Figure HIM out. 

I was sent to my sleeping chamber without supper. Suits me well, I hate to see my perfect figure go all flabby. 

October 18 

Today is the birth date of my Aunt Nadiya, my mother's younger sister. Both of them are always quarreling about the robes, the wands, who gets the white silk and the saffron one. Ye gads! I am glad that I am an only child, and a very good-looking one as well. 

We had a grand feast that evening, accompanied of course by minstrels and jugglers. Father bought off a chef from the Kappelkoffs' manor, so that we could keep him as our own and let Aunt Nadiya turn green with envy. Mister Kappelkoff did not attend the gathering. He probably spent the evening looking for Stalin, the chef. 

The seaweed pie has finally satisfied my gourmet tongue. I am looking forward to some more tomorrow. I asked my servant maid if seaweed has any fat, and she just shrugged. I should have never asked her in the first place. 

Night-night. 

October 19 

Aunt Nadiya left the manor and headed for London, teary-eyed and all. Her special day was ruined because mother got the saffron silk. And saffron was her favorite color. 

After greeting ( and wishing ) Aunt Nadiya farewell ( and good riddance ), I took the long way home. As I was walking past the river, the Weasley girl suddenly screamed bloody murder. I guess she remembered my face when I peeped into her bathing session, and when she was snuggling up to the pratty butcher boy Neville inside the Weasley barn. I want to say that I have already paid for the bathing thing, since last week I had an eye inflammation, but I figured it was of no use. She chased me around the streets and in and out of the bakery. I had a cut on my left cheek, my dress robes are all floury, and tomorrow, I shall seek revenge. 

October 20 

Revenge is sweet. I let my servant maid Camilla collect fleas for me to put on the Weasley girl's bath cloth. The red blotches should be appearing right about...now, both on Camilla's and Ginny's (the Weasley girl, finally decided to use her real name ) skin. I hope that Mr. Snape, the potion brewer, would never give her any cure for those. 

Some family would be moving in the Evercrest Mansion, which is one street away from us, and just one meter away from the hangings. Even though I am exposed to bloodshed and torture more than your average 14 year old, I never find death fascinating. That is one of the big differences between my father and me. 

They are to arrive one day before All Hallows' Eve. 

This night, when we are having the Browns over for supper, the Lavender girl started fondling me and was evidently planning to tumble me. But I preferred to strangle her, it gives me so much more enjoyment than rolling all over my bed and ruining my sheets with the...stuff. I shall secretly throw cow dung at her tomorrow morning. Violence-Towards-Anyone-Regardless-Of-Gender is my middle name. 

Better start keeping you under the bed, Benjamin, father is getting very curious. 

October 22 

Father confiscated my inks yesterday. He said I have been spending too much time writing instead of practicing my Dark Arts or fencing. Well, bully for him. I shall continue writing for I do not wish to sharpen only my perfect physical state, but my clever mind as well. Unlike SOME people, obviously. 

Mr. Snape refused to tell me where the Weasley girl got her blotches. He gave the remedy! Damn, I thought there was someone else I could trust in this stupid world besides me. 

It is a good thing that the Lavender girl got twice more goat dung on her face than on her pink kirtle, ( the cows do not feel like disposing. ) or else this would have been a perfectly rotten day. 

October 23 

There was a wedding in the cathedral today. It was the Knight of Rumford, of whom I do not know the name, and Duchess Lunaquis of Gloucester. We Malfoys were invited to the wedding, and so were the Weasleys, who are the settlers in his share of land. A mixture of the upper and lower classes, you bet. It was nothing fancy, really, we can afford much, much more. The colors were beige and amber, a queer but choice selection, and the bride's veil was showered with daffodils and little gold bells. Half of the goers snored throughout the ceremony, including father, which is a disgrace. They had no seaweed pie for supper. 

If I were to wed (ha! ) , I would not accept just a rumble-tumble ceremony. There shall be a saffron and off-white kirtle for my bride, with yellow and white roses for her belt and a gold leaf tiara to crown her pretty head. I, on the other hand, shall wear whatever the hell I want, because I can look good in anything. Stop reading this if you are fed up with my vain and egoistical attitude. 

So much for getting wedded, I can already see myself in 20 years as the only handsome bachelor in the whole of England. 

A/N: Here are some vocabulary words that might help. Please offer constructive criticism and not flames. Thanks. 

Tumble - to snog ( hehehehe.... ) 

Wedded - to get married 

Vellum - another form of paper used in the Medieval Age. 

Kirtle - a gown or frock 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. 

October 28 

The arrival of the Potter family is almost coming. Father bought us new dress robes from the exclusive François le something- something shop. I have heard that Lady McGonagall shops for lingerie there, a disturbing fact that makes my ears twitch and my body get all screwed up. I mean, yech, even the seemingly innocent and harmless corsets there make men go " Awoo! Awoo! " ( an imitation of father's reaction on mother's lacy violet and black brassiere ), which is fine... but on Lady McGonagall? Puh-leez. 

October 29 

Today we had our manor scrubbed till it was spotless. I do not see any necessity in doing that, it's so...fake. They should see the grandeur of our stone mansion in all its dusty cobweb-infested splendor. It's only right, since we are going to be neighbors for some time. 

Okay, I was kidding! Can't fool you, eh? Ha, when I see the looks on their faces... 

Have a good night, Benjamin, and I cannot believe that I just said good night to a lifeless stack of vellum. 

Maybe I'm just lonely. I guess I'm looking forward to tomorrow after all. 

October 30 

His name is Harry, and I don't feel like writing now. I don't know the hell why. There's something...I can't quite put my finger on it. ( okay, maybe my middle finger, but I don't like doing that anymore.) 

October 31 - All Hallows Eve 

I still can't express what I felt yesterday. But otherwise I can already write well and tell acid jokes, so be prepared, Benjamin my boy. I have a lot to spill. 

A lot of food was brought by the guests that came to celebrate All Hallows Eve with us. Stalin is sick, and he might contaminate the food so he is still locked upstairs in his sleeping chamber with Camilla to give him medication. ( ah, I wonder what they are doing right now... ) Anyway, I was surprised that the food was really not that bad. It is, to sum it all up, mediocre. That's a compliment if it came from someone like me, who has impeccable taste and a gourmet tongue as well. 

Pratty butcher boy's grandmother came with kegs of apple cider while the Delacour family was the first to bring lilac-coloured (?) soul cakes. That I had no stupidity to eat. 

I was waiting for Harry, the new boy with an ugly scar on his forehead, since he is the only wealthy boy of my age. Of course, there is Seamus Finnigan, fine lad, but his accent is so hard to comprehend, ( " No friggin' wae! " ) that I have to bring along my mother just to interact with him. 

While waiting, I drank two glasses of apple cider ( spiked with 1150 Jack Daniels ) and ate a piece of camembert cheese. Which reminds me, I have to go fencing later. 

Harry came with his godfather and they brought seaweed pie. ( Imagine that! We hardly know each other and they brought seaweed pie! SEAWEED PIE! ) 

He is okay, but he is far too...gentlemanly. And chivalric. And merciful. Talk about women he would not. Too dirty. Talk about riches he would not. It would make the Weasleys uncomfortable. 

So I said, out of impatience, boredom and fury, " What the hell else is there to do, then?! " 

And he answered, " I know. Let's play with Neville, Seamus and Ron. " 

So he did. I joined in after an hour for lack of something better to do. We played chess, wooden sword fencing, an Irish game called Stick Wand and ended with a spitting competition. 

I realized three things: One: Butcher boy is a lot more of a prat than I thought. Two: Seamus' accent is less understandable now that he lacks one front teeth. ( fell down the marble floor, that idiot. ) and Three: My, has Ron grown. Taller than me, that is, not in the way that some GREEN MINDED people would think! 

But if you're curious, yes, he has grown there, too. My congratulations, Weasley boy. 

~NOVEMBER~ 

November 1 - The Day of the Saints 

There was another grand feast held this morning, and my father can hardly stand up because his stomach is not feeling very well. It serves him right, I told him not to eat the soul cakes! It proves that they should listen to me more often, after all, I am brilliance itself. 

My theories are again proven accurate: Stalin did bed Camilla. We found them lying side by side on Stalin's sleeping chamber with no clothes on. And I am sure I heard moaning last night. 

Another proof of brilliance. One chalk up for me and none for you. 

Anyway, I sat beside Harry, or rather, Harry sat beside me throughout the whole feast. His unkempt hair kept falling in front of his face whenever he bows down to drink his soup and he still has that piece of pork stuck between his teeth since morning. He is poor at fencing, spitting and stick wands. But above all that, I am fond of him. 

And that is what I am worried sick about. What do I find in this person that makes me feel...content? Not really with material wealth, because the King has more gold than us, nor is it with looks, for the M emblazoned in my hide is not exactly a pleasant site to see. It's something I have never felt before. Can it be love? No, he's a lad, that could never happen. Then what is it? 

I leave this question onto you, Benjamin, in hopes that you could find an answer for me tomorrow night. 

Great, now I am asking an inanimate object to solve my problems. What is my world coming to? 

November 2 - The Day of the Souls 

The guests have left to mourn for the dead ones, and so all is at peace again. Uncle Brandon shall come for me tomorrow, so I must pack my things ( and must I say, a lot of things ) and prepare for my stay at his mansion. Mother bought me a new pair of boots to go with my François le something - something dress robes. And now, I am again reminded of lady McGonagall's purchases. Ergh. 

I am quite relieved to go out of the house, even just for 3 days. I am already tired of it, being there everyday with nothing to do. Uncle Brandon provides me with much entertainment mainly because he does not have a family of his own, therefore we can spend the whole day together. You know, Benjamin, sometimes I wish that he was my father instead of Lucius Malfoy, who is a pathetic excuse of a human being. He never really cares about me the way Uncle Brandon does. And I'm sure he will treat mother a lot better. 

Oh, and don't worry, I will bring you along. 

November 3 

Uncle Brandon's carriage arrived just in time. His black horses are stunning, I will try and bully father to get me some of that. When I reached the mansion, there were already loads of seaweed pie on the dining table. He is definitely better than father, who would rather have pork and beef during meal times. 

Today he taught me new forms of magic ( Peeping Potion, Benjamin? ) and gave me an eagle owl for an advanced birthday present. ( I am sure he would give me another one on the day itself ) I am still deciding upon the name. 

I cannot wait for tomorrow. He said that we would have another one of those interesting man-to-man talks, of which father never liked doing. 

~ 

A/N - Thanks for the kind reviews. I appreciate them a lot. And now, the mandatory vocabulary lesson: 

Soul cakes - They are distributed by the elderly or given by wealthy families during All Hallows Eve and The Day of the Saints. 

All Hallows Eve - Halloween 

One chalk up for me - They didn't have chalk before. It was just an idiomatic expression, so no harm done, really. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
  
November 4  
  
Uncle Brandon got called away to do an errand for the king. He would not be back until next month, so they are already going to fetch for me tomorrow.  
  
I decided to make the Peeping Potion in the kitchen, which is now full of pink smoke and suffocating chefs. I goofed, obviously, but I am thankful for the fact that there's enough undamaged potion for one flask. I could already imagine the things that I could do with it. You will know what I mean soon, Benjamin.  
  
The goat boy said that the eagle owl uncle gave me is a male. It should be! Putting up with those prissy females, even animals of that gender, is not exactly up to my liking. I named him Nielsen, after the baker who gives me extra jam tarts during Michaelmas. It's quite a nice name , don't you think?  
  
More on the gender issue. They should already know by now that men are superior to women, and that I, Draco Malfoy, am superior to all of them. Am I right, or am I right? No choice there, really.  
  
Maybe it's time that I end this day's account, Benjamin, for if anyone shall read this, they shall probably throw up all over my expensive carpet.  
  
  
  
November 5  
  
It's raining hard, and I am fortunate that I got home before it really starts to pour. The flood has washed away most of our cattle, and God knows where we will find them next. Sir Dumbledore, however, said that he has used a Tracking Charm for all the animals in our area, which is Northern England, so whether they'd be drowning in ocean Atlantique or being roasted by gypsies in Notre Dame, he would definitely know.  
  
Anyways, father doesn't seem to be too pleased to see me, or perhaps his face had always looked scrunched up ever since. But he did mention my upcoming birthday on the 13th, and that we would hold a grand ball in honor of the celebration. He also said that after my birthday, I would officially be in a marriageable age, so I must find a wife for me as soon as possible.  
  
Wife? Girls? Horrible! I told him my plans of becoming "the most handsome bachelor in all England" and all it got me was a crack at my rump.  
  
Strange, though, every time someone mentions marriage or weddings I am reminded of…Harry. Perhaps he's marrying a girl and I am to be the best man? Or is it something else?  
  
  
  
November 6  
  
Raining. Stuck inside with nothing to do. No opportunity to try out the potion. The Weasley girl is very careful about her bathing nowadays.  
  
  
  
November 7  
  
Still raining, but I saw Harry playing outside with Ron and Neville. They didn't seem to mind the rain at all. I feel a little tinge of hate because he did not even bother to come to the manor and ask me to join them.  
  
I did fiddle around with father's torture instruments, however, so the day was not a complete waste. Did you know, Benjamin, that cut off toes start to smell bad only when they get in contact with water?  
  
If it will rain tomorrow, I would join them outside. And I'll try to be a little nicer. Forgive but never forget. An opposing statement to my father's, but nevertheless effective.  
  
  
  
November 8  
  
It's a sunny day, but they still played outside, this time with Seamus and the redhead twins. I went downstairs ( more like fled downstairs ) and ran towards the street where they were all standing.  
  
I was extra-nice to them. I said, " Can I play with you guys? " and I let them win some of the games, and at the end, they were all gawking at me with astonishment. Harry, of course, did not know that I had the reputation of Mr. Unapproachable, so he was just smiling. And it feels so great that I cannot continue on writing because I might get sickeningly poetic.  
  
Love dawns on those who wait, and not those who hate.  
  
Man, I'm good.  
  
November 9  
  
My parents are already preparing the list of the people invited to my birthday bash. Some of those who are invited are the Delacours, the Browns ( one more move of that Lavender girl and I'll smash her head to bits ) , the Thomases, the Krums ( Bulgarian slug, anyone? ) , the Potters, the Finnigans, the Weasleys , Neville Longbottom and his grandma, Sir Dumbledore, Mr. Snape, Lady McGonagall, and the Parkinsons. The others, I do not know who the hell they are, so ignore them I shall.  
  
An awful lot of girls were on the list, too, unfortunately. Perchance they are expecting me to flirt and if they are lucky, tumble at least one or two of those extremely lucky lasses. But they shall not get what they want, because I wish to tumble with someone else…like perhaps Har…  
  
Crap. How embarrassing to think that. Erase. Erase. Erase.  
  
  
  
November 10  
  
The color motif is emerald green and silver. I suggested it to be a masquerade ball, but then the downside of it would be not knowing who you are dancing with and what they look like without the mask. Imagine if I got paired up with Neville's grandma…oh gawd. Somebody give me chamomile oil here, I am in need of serious medication.  
  
It is proposed that until the actual finding of my tumble mate ( here we go again ), I could enjoy the company of the lads. I already had my green cloak and black velvet dress robe steam-pressed by the servants, and tomorrow I shall have them shine my new Libellule Aile boots, another fine masterpiece by Tailleur Jacques of Paris. ( free advertisement! How quaint. )  
  
  
  
November 11  
  
My parents and I visited the Potter mansion to get decorating ideas for the garden, so Sir Sirius reluctantly chaperoned them through their backyard, probably worried that father would chop off a gnome's head as soon as he sees one. He knows perfectly well that father hates those ugly little creatures and that decapitated gnomes look awful with gardens such as his.  
  
They told me to wait for Harry in his sleeping chamber while he is washing up. His room smells nice, like vanilla beans and cocoa. He's been eating upstairs again, I bet, and I won't be surprised if I find some mice scampering around.  
  
I used the Peeping Potion on the door of his bathing room while waiting, and, just to say it decently, I must be careful not to spew out my meat later on.  
  
When he got out and found out what I had been doing, he poked me in the eye dead center and called me a good-for-nothing pervert who has no respect for the privacy of others.  
  
Thank you, thank you very much.  
  
  
  
November 12  
  
I am not allowed to touch a thing downstairs because everything is already in ship-shape.  
  
They told Camilla to scrub my back extra hard today and to " Brush his hair 'til it shines like gold and is as soft as silk. " They also let me choose a new perfume. ( We men wear that, I swear ) There's musk, rose, autumn, vanilla and cinnamon. I chose vanilla. Don't ask why.  
  
But you will know the reason, don't you, Benjamin? I am afraid you would.  
  
Got to get some sleep, then. Tomorrow is the big day.  
  
  
  
~  
  
  
  
A/N: Thanks again for all the lovely reviews! I would not have the courage to continue this if it weren't for you nice people!  
  
shifter – gay ( as blunt as I could be )  
  
Libellule Aile – dragonfly wing 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer:  
  
A/N: Yes, I have read Catherine Called Birdy, and yes, it was the book that inspired me to do this. Lovely piece! Also, if you watch Survivor 3, you will know where Draco's uncle comes from. My favourite character, though a lot of people don't like him.  
  
  
  
1 Chapter 4  
  
  
  
November 13  
  
Females are sprawled all over my beautiful marble floor and "father" threatened to lock us all up here for the rest of the week. Lavender girl bit off one of my buttons during one of her escapades on my body. ( Luckily, a used fork was just beside me and I managed to prick her arse with it as hard as I could. Long Live the Deranged Bachelors! ) Then, a dozen girls fought over the last dance like bloody chickens in a coop full of crap. It's that bad, and I am *sick* and *tired* of all these immature people trying to get me to do something which I obviously HATE to do.  
  
The good thing is that Uncle Brandon came two hours early and we finally have the chance to talk. I was completely shocked when he admitted that he was a shifter. It is a term he used, meaning that he prefers to be married to lads or something. I did not know that there are actually some people who think like that. I am still a bit grossed out by all this, although I perfectly understand the not liking the girls part. He probably inherited it from my great ( say that for 4 times ) grandfather. In my opinion, he should have been killed when they found out about how his mind works.  
  
So what am I, then? I don't like lasses, I don't like lads...well…  
  
Gawds. Who would have thought. He is giving me the creeps. He is more effeminate than most girls in England, especially in terms of hand gestures, but I figured that he was just a free spirit of some sort.  
  
He does love to stare at Sir Sirius' arse, though. And he twirls his soup spoon around his fingers…and all this is leaving me nauseous…chamomile oil…chamomile oil…  
  
And to think that I am related to him!  
  
What will they do if they find out? Will they hang him on a noose in front of the manor?  
  
Finally, I get to see a hanging.  
  
Anyways, I got a lot of presents compared to last year, including a crystal chess set, a crushed velvet nightgown in emerald green ( like Harry's eyes ), a Bible from my uncles in the monastery ( I'll be ablaze before I even read it, I'm the little blonde-haired demon of the 11th Century), 400 Galleons, and sweet mother of pearl! ( derived from Uncle Brandon's collection of girly expressions, volume 2 ) a potion-brewing set from Mr. Snape!  
  
Mother said she would give me the diamond-encrusted Malfoy legacy ring when I get engaged. Why not emeralds?  
  
Gawd, not his eyes again. Shut it, Draco. Just shut it.  
  
  
  
November 14  
  
Everyone is outside picking apples and singing hillbilly songs. They are showing to the whole world the true peasant in them. Ha. Do what you must. Being the smart one in the family, I, however, preferred to stay inside the house, where I shall write in comfort and gulp down some hot cider.  
  
So, right now, I am still sitting beside the window, watching the clouds go by and the sun go down… and what do I see?! Harry Potter with Seamus Finnigan! Picking apples and singing hillbilly songs! How utterly divine!  
  
Will I let them frolic amongst themselves while I bore myself to sleep writing a stupid account? I think not!  
  
  
  
November 15  
  
Lovely time I had yesterday. Neville joined in and threw up while we were riding on the turnip cart, and so my robe stinks of sour apples and…onions, but otherwise, everything was perfect. I never knew Harry could have such a wicked sense of humor. Just a little more perverted and he may end up just like me!  
  
Sir Sirius fetched some logs and we all had a bonfire. Chestnuts, apples, pie, you name it, I ate it. All those evil food made me heavier, I reckon, because I can hardly get up from my bed! It's back to one meal a day for me. Don't call me anorexic, Benjamin, for sometimes you just have to sacrifice happiness for a tight rump, if you know what I'm thinking.  
  
You don't? Well, good for you then.  
  
Father slept until afternoon because he wasn't used to turning in late. Uncle Brandon also sent me an owl to tell me that he is coming to visit tomorrow.  
  
Okay, he also said that if the word gets around that he is a shifter, then I might as well be stabbing myself with a dull kitchen knife. Scary, and to think that he has a feminine side.  
  
  
  
November 16  
  
Uncle Brandon showed me the copy of the Malfoy Code of Law – the adult edition. It had pretty much all of the stuff that dirty minded people think of, including shifters and lingerie. I'd rather that I never saw it, though, and that I could have instead the privilege of spending my childhood peacefully.  
  
Luckily, that was just robbed from me two hours ago, and I am doomed to live a life of misery and immense suffering.  
  
Maybe not, but I hate it so when my childlike innocence is destroyed. ( Like I even have a tad of that, eh, Benjamin? )  
  
Shifters, according to the copy, are not punished, but they are strictly forbidden to bear any children ( that explains why uncle doesn't have a family, I guess ) or give influence to any Malfoy, regardless of age and status. They are not to show very public display of affection with people of their own gender. They are to dress as they should and act like they should.  
  
Talk about controlled! Reminds me of the rotund puppet master I saw in South Kensington last Midsummer's Eve. Uncle, of course, would play the wooden lass in a violet kirtle.  
  
I could already imagine. Eww.  
  
  
  
November 17  
  
I hate the Lavender girl. I hate her worse than measles, hemorrhoids and runny nose put together. If only it is legal to, say, scalp her bald or better yet throw her in a pit full of glowing embers of charcoal, but nooooo. I have to put up with her and risk losing my beloved sanity! And what pissed me most about it is that "father" seem to be playing cupid all over again and pushing me to have tea with the undeserving git!  
  
She actually begged me, in front of my whole family and hers, to do "it" tonight?! Has this woman any shame?! And at the point of crying and breaking down even!  
  
People tumble people because they love each other and want to have a baby or something, and not because of anything else. That's what I want it to be. Besides, her oversized bosoms might just pop out of her kirtle any sooner! Surely some pathetic lad would find it attractive!  
  
Gawds, I don't want to think about that.  
  
I am sure Harry is having the same dilemma, though, after all, we are pretty irresistible men. Not that I think he is…but…  
  
I should talk to him tomorrow. And maybe to playboy Seamus as well. For once they should be of some help.  
  
~  
  
  
  
A/N: Just to get things clear, I purposely try to make Draco sound more girlish, proving the theorem that his uncle is somehow influencing him to be shifted on the other side of the fence, get crooked, be buttered on the other side of the toast, you get the picture. On the future chapters, I will think of putting him on stage 3: denial or stage 4: realization. Thanks again for the good reviews!! 


	5. Chapter 5

The Diary of Draco Malfoy: Chapter 5  
  
A/N: Sorry it took so long. Been busy with the holidays. Just want to tell you that I am really grateful for all those reviews. Please tell me if I'm getting worse or better, so that I can work on it, alright? Thanks a lot!  
  
  
  
November 18  
  
No help. Should have known.  
  
Uncle Brandon is having his mansion renovated, so he would be staying with us for a couple of weeks. I am reckoning that he's putting on the new fangled blue fiberglass on the windows. Or maybe new floor rushes for the hallway. Or maybe he's repainting his balls, I mean, walls, in chartreuse. He is filthy rich, and I am just plain filthy. I guess me and uncle do have a lot in common.  
  
Anyways, he will bring his expensive wardrobe and let me try on some of it.  
  
He's dying to show me his leather trousers, he said. Whoopee.  
  
Nothing to lose, though. I'll have him model it for me. If I like it, I'll have it in every color. If I don't, I'll kick his nuts 'till they fall off.  
  
Oh, gawd, that's harsh!  
  
  
  
November 19  
  
Sometime next week, trousers in ebony, maroon and emerald will arrive in a box for me and Harry. I absolutely have no choice. With the aforementioned item of clothing showing off his buns of granite, you'll want them so bad you'll pay double for it. Sort of like what I did.  
  
Looking forward to parading around the manor with that on.  
  
  
  
November 20  
  
Practiced my fencing against a spiked windmill. I was yelling my guts out, and yet, no one came to assist me. Some family.  
  
Luckily, Sir Sirius spotted me before my arm flew across the yard. You probably won't notice the slight change in writing, though, I am widely known for my excellent penmanship.  
  
However, I probably won't write much, for my whole arm hurts so, and I am still recuperating from the trauma.  
  
I trust I would receive some presents tomorrow.  
  
  
  
November 21  
  
Seamus, Harry, Ron and Neville attempted to entertain me with their own reenactment of yesterday's tragedy. Of course, with a slight twist. Lavender, played by none other than Harry, was the one who rushed to help the poor handsome boy. Those guys really know how to cheer a person up, eh?  
  
I must say that Harry looked damned good in a kirtle. Lose the scar, and he could pass for the Duchess of Lincolnshire. And she doesn't have a simpleton for a face, mind you.  
  
No more now, I could feel my skin ripping. Rip. Rip.  
  
  
  
November 22  
  
Uncle Brandon kept me up all night with his stories of dead people and how they wander about everywhere you look. In the cupboard, on top of the candelabras, under the table…  
  
" Beside you. I can see him. He is wearing this long tunic, I reckon from the past century, and he has this cold silver eyes that'll make you quiver like pudding. Oh my gracious, Drakie, he's coming towards you!"  
  
We both ended up screaming like little girls getting run over by a carriage. Just when Rosemary and Camilla were passing by. The humiliation!  
  
My arm still hurts, and I am still petrified. To death.  
  
Benjamin. Beside you.  
  
  
  
November 23  
  
Just told the tale to Neville. Dear marmalade, I think he fainted.  
  
  
  
November 24  
  
The humiliation goes on. I was too scared, or rather, too cautious to go to the privy all by myself, so I dragged Harry along for company. After confiscating his magical penknife. You never know, he might just screw a hole somewhere, and hole in privy equals exposure equals violation of rule # 5 in Draco's Code of Law: no one gets a peep of my you-know-what until I reach my 18th birthday.  
  
You don't want to know the reason.  
  
  
  
November 25  
  
Perchance my imagination is playing with me? Or is there a long tunic-ed man under the cupboard?  
  
The horror, the horror.  
  
  
  
November 26  
  
The long tunic-ed man is of Harry's invention. Made of straw and bundled with string. He thinks he's being funny.  
  
I'll have to admit it's pretty clever, though. But honestly, I can do better than that. I'm just being modest of my artistic talents.  
  
Let the games begin. Tomorrow, we'll have The Bashing of Harry's Head as an opening ceremony.  
  
  
  
November 27  
  
Behold, Benjamin, my newest invention: Dung Cake. Looks like dung, feels like dung. Leave some on the street, pass by it together with Victim ( a.k.a. Harry Potter ) , say it's horse dung. Watch as he steers away from it. Then, dip finger in "horse dung", put finger in mouth. Watch the horrified look on Victim's face, for little does he know that it is one of Stalin's culinary masterpieces.  
  
I am in eager anticipation for tomorrow.  
  
November 28  
  
Perfect! Harry vomited the whole of his morning meal ( not a pretty sight, I assure you ) and called sick for the rest of the afternoon . Ha. That ought to teach him to mess with the master.  
  
To tell the truth, I feel like a heel. My so-called "conscience" is pricking me like mad. I was just getting even, what is so wrong with that?  
  
But with Harry. You just don't get even with Harry, Draco. You just don't.  
  
  
  
November 28 – 2nd part  
  
Can't sleep. By golly, it's the middle of the night. What if he doesn't speak to me again?  
  
  
  
November 29  
  
Happiness! Harry did not take it personally, and even promised to get back at me next time with a much bigger prank. He seemed a tad overwhelmed that I decided not to fight back anymore.  
  
" Know what? You're really something else, Drakie, despite the popular belief. Not that they don't like you, now they very much do, in fact. "  
  
Gawds, I memorized the whole statement! My exceptional memory just won't let me forget it, I guess. And DRAKIE? I thought Uncle Brandon was the only shifter I know! Times are a-changing, that's for sure.  
  
Oh, well, as long as all is well between us, I don't care much about anything.  
  
Did I just say that? My, we're a little over our heads today, aren't we, Benjamin?  
  
  
  
  
  
~  
  
  
  
A/N: I don't think there's any vocabulary lesson on this one. But I hope you do notice that Harry's catching up with Draco. For the update, they are currently both in stage 2 ½: emotional development. They're not ready for 3 yet, I think, so maybe next chapter. Or maybe there will be a girl interrupting their "progress". Ahmm…:P 


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: First, a few clarifications. The 18th birthday thing is a belief the 11th century people have about something being biggest at that age. You know what it is, I don't wish to elaborate anymore. *bleurgh! * Anyhoo, on with the story.  
  
  
  
Chapter 6  
  
  
  
~ DECEMBER ~  
  
  
  
December 1  
  
A traveler by the name of Ethan sought shelter in our manor last night. He has curly brown hair, is tall, has a pointed nose and a good disposition. Uncle Brandon swoons over him.  
  
Sir Ethan reckons his fathers are part of the round table. He plans on becoming one himself, and is awaiting the invitation of King Edward. Uncle whispered something about an invitation that made Sir Ethan grin with delight.  
  
My goodness. If what I'm thinking is what they're thinking, then I would rather that they sent me to Westminster to be a monk than live with those two.  
  
  
  
December 2  
  
The aspirant knight left early in the morning. Uncle Brandon was none too happy about it, and whacked my arse with a soup ladle when I mentioned his natty beard and cabbage-y smell. Hangover from yesterday, I am supposing.  
  
The pain. It's excruciating when I laugh.  
  
  
  
December 3  
  
Snow has come, Benjamin! My inner child is blossoming again!  
  
I shall make myself a snowman, a snow bird, raspberry snow cones and snow punch. Perchance a snow Uncle Brandon staring at Sir Ethan's snowy behind, or even a snow Harry with green beetles for its eyes. If I have time, maybe a snow Sir Snape falling in his snow cauldron. The world is full of possibilities.  
  
It's just terrible that a snow Draco is too hot to keep from melting, though. I reckon I can buy some freezing charm, only that it costs as much as a carriage.  
  
Snow Draco or carriage? Definitely carriage, for crying out loud.  
  
Anyhow, I kept saying the expression "oh my goodness" today. Father, overhearing my sudden femininity of which I obviously got from the very shifter itself, shouted that he allows curses in his manor.  
  
Tsk. A father encouraging his son to say filthy words? Oh my goodness.  
  
  
  
December 4  
  
Made a snow bird that looks like a snow pig. If someone asks what it is, I don't know what I am going to say. I honestly don't.  
  
  
  
December 5  
  
I ate raspberry snow cones until my appendix burst. While gorging it all down, despite how they make your head ache, I thought about me being a snow cone.  
  
But then, it's so perfectly silly that I stopped thinking about it. St. Mungo's Shelter for the Mentally Disturbed awaits me.  
  
  
  
December 6  
  
Sound the trumpets! The leather trousers have arrived!  
  
I spent the whole of the afternoon in my sleeping chamber trying it on.  
  
With undergarments. Nice hide you got back there.  
  
Without undergarments. Oh my goodness. Too revealing. ( But what a thing to reveal, ahmm…)  
  
White silk tunic. Dashing, yet subtle.  
  
Black silk tunic. I will fade into the night.  
  
I reckon I'll try white silk tunic, belt with silver buckle, with undergarments. Perfection. I am the fashionably pale Prince Henry without the crooked nose.  
  
  
  
December 7  
  
Wore the trousers. Uncle Brandon's and Harry's eyes were on me all day. Slowly following every move I make. Drooling all over my clean sleeping chamber.  
  
Gawds. I'm turning lads into shifters!  
  
Sometimes I think I'm too handsome for my own good. It's a fatal curse, I'll tell you that.  
  
  
  
December 8  
  
Uncle Brandon's spell wore off, but he still wishes that I was a stranger of his age. So I replied, " like Sir Ethan, eh? "  
  
Whack!  
  
Remind me to get rid of all the soup ladles in our manor, would you, Benjamin?  
  
Anyways, Harry is still ogling. Has he not got better things to accomplish?  
  
Frankly, no. Admire my presence, oh beautiful one.  
  
  
  
December 9  
  
Harry, not to be outdone, walked in our manor wearing his, UNBUTTONED. Of course, with undergarments. He is not a tramp, as you can see.  
  
Restrain yourself from squealing, Draco. It is improper, uncouth and extremely effeminate.  
  
Ah, I know. I shall squeal through writing. Cover your imaginary ears, Benjamin.  
  
GOOD LORD! WHAT AN ARSE!  
  
Done. You can stop now.  
  
  
  
December 10  
  
Nothing to write about today, so I shall tell you something about my family, of whom I dearly love and adore.  
  
Father. Lucius Malfoy, 36 years of age. Handsome, blonde, stately and a distant relative of Eleanor of Castile, Cts de Ponthieu. I disliked him before, but ever since I have turned into 14 years of age, he has been treating me fairly well, so like him I shall. Spectacular swordsman, speaker and broom handler. ( yes, he has been practicing. )  
  
Mother. Narcissa Malfoy, 34 years of age. Beautiful, flaxen, slightly stately and whose family owns many lands in England, Salisbury and Fleece, just to name a few. Vain, caring and supportive. Not a very good housekeeper, but a talented chef.  
  
Uncle. Brandon Donatello Malfoy, 26 years of age. Handsome or beautiful, I do not know, brunette, not too stately, flamboyant and bloody brilliant. Wardrobe designing, haggling ( don't ask ) and empire building are his areas of expertise.  
  
Aunt. Nadiya Berenger , 32 years of age. Whiny, emotional and bossy. But nevertheless fun. That's all I know about her.  
  
Uncle. Murdock Berenger II, 40- something years of age. Handsome, nice smile, dumb as a post.  
  
Cousin. Vienna Berenger, 19 years of age. Imagine a bear. Imagine a bear wearing a kirtle. Imagine a kirtle-d bear with flaxen curls.  
  
Owl. Nielsen. Bloated, spoiled rotten and adores shortcake. He is allergic to ale, though.  
  
Account. Benjamin. Faithful, a good listener, loyal and INANIMATE, gosh damn it!  
  
There it is. My family. Dysfunctional, different, but what the hell.  
  
  
  
~  
  
A/N: Thanks again for all those awesome reviews. You all rock.  
  
They both have reached stage 3: denial, although it does not clearly show. Wonderful flirts, they are. I think they would breeze through that stage rather quickly. Hurray, up next, my favourite part: REALIZATION.  
  
That's always good, isn't it? But now I am just wishing for Uncle B and a soup ladle to pop in front of me. Whack!  
  
Thanks again. 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The Diary of Draco Malfoy  
  
A/N: Sorry if it took long! I had writer's block, too much homework, and I needed a vacation from both. If only I had a laptop…  
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy and other characters property of JK Rowling.  
  
Ethan Zohn and Brandon Quinton considered property of Mark Burnett and their mothers.  
  
  
  
December 10  
  
Since I am nearing the official marriageable age of 14 and a month ( the church likes it approximate ), many are flocking to Northern England to offer their daughters' hands to me, not to mention large dowries to my parents.  
  
I asked, Shouldn't I be the one who finds the lass and gives the dowry?  
  
Father replied, My son, where else could they find a rich, handsome and intelligent man like you?  
  
I must admit, point well said. We Malfoys do have a knack of delivery.  
  
Nevertheless, the indignation. The outrage.  
  
How could you think of selling me like a mere lass? I bellowed.  
  
And so, The Whip, is brought out.  
  
Whack! Whack!  
  
Great, now I have the whole alphabet on my arse. Sure makes remembering them easier.  
  
One rule, Draco, he said, before locking me in my chamber for the night. " Complain, whip. No complain, no whip. "  
  
His sentence structure astounds me.  
  
  
  
December 11  
  
Lavender, along with her owners, as I like to call them, arrived early this afternoon, begging again for my approval and virginity.  
  
She had only rose petals to cover her swollen breasts. She must think she looks very sweet.  
  
Biases aside, I thought it to be the most revolting thing I have ever seen.  
  
That is, until I saw her fanny.  
  
Saints preserve us.  
  
  
  
December 12  
  
Johanna of Mayfair arrived with expensive gifts and a dowry to match Lavender's.  
  
John of Mayfair, I believe, is a more appropriate term, for my, oh my, what muscles to flex. Sir Good Body would be terrified.  
  
Besides that, I reckon I could very well shove Nielsen into her deep nostrils.  
  
Her sense of smell must be excellent.  
  
Father doesn't like her, and neither do I. Lavender is still in the running.  
  
  
  
December 13  
  
In comes Emma of Middlesex. Her father is Chancellor of Exchequer, who is by far considered as one of the many royalties in England. She is plain but presentable, has good table manners, and puts on marvelous clothes. Uncle Brandon is itching to buy her fur cloak.  
  
One small predicament, though. They want US to pay the dowry.  
  
He is the rare find, father said, and not her. Good day, Sir Robert, and also to you, Miss Emma.  
  
They left hurriedly with scorns on their faces and with Uncle Brandon running after them.  
  
Though all is lost and mores the self-pity, I sincerely hope he catches up with the carriage, for Emma's cute velvet sou'wester is just too wonderful for words.  
  
  
  
December 14  
  
Diana of Castile was the perfect bride-to-be with six thousand galleons. I was overjoyed, until we found out she is a cousin of mine.  
  
Why haven't I thought of that?  
  
The Archbishop of Canterbury, who is strongly against marrying relations, would be aghast, therefore making Lavender win by default.  
  
We are to marry Christmas morning, and then head to Cumberland where we shall first rule together as lord and lady.  
  
Lavender was in tears.  
  
So was I.  
  
  
  
December 15  
  
Our wedding robes are of lavender (ugh ) and silver. I tried to sell the idea of black and red, but of to no avail. They said they don't want to summon the devils during our wedding day.  
  
That was the idea.  
  
Uncle Brandon walked past me and laughed. You… look… like a fluffy bunny.  
  
Why, thanks very much. You look great, too.  
  
Anyways, Lavender is disgusted with my seaweed pie, and threw it outside without my permission.  
  
She impolitely ordered Stalin to bake a crème-filled one. It screams of saturated fat.  
  
As if that's not bad enough. For the wedding cake, I wanted German chocolate. But nooooo, she wants sugar frosted. Let's just hope her throat bleeds severely and sucks the life out of her.  
  
The dance. She kept on insisting "Danse au lutin". I said I don't give a damn.  
  
Whack!  
  
My bum. My precious bum.  
  
  
  
December 16  
  
Harry just found out what happened. He is outraged as well. Too outraged, as a matter of fact.  
  
" You can't let them do this to you!"  
  
He almost mauled Lavender with his penknife. I tried to stop him. A little.  
  
" I'll think of something. Don't worry, that walking scandal shall not prevail! " he shouted, before slamming the front door on Camilla's nose.  
  
Good boy.  
  
  
  
December 17  
  
Harry gathered all the lads into my sleeping chamber to discuss the situation.  
  
They care. They truly care. Benjamin, kindly hand me some cloth to wipe my blurry eyes.  
  
Anyhow, they unanimously suggested that I declare myself a shifter.  
  
A shifter declaration. Such an impressive idea, dignity aside. Knowing them, I sort of thought they would be giving me a Westminster application.  
  
Or at least, some crazy idea like smuggling me into a gypsy caravan, where I shall dance with tambourines strapped on my feet for eternity.  
  
Damn it! Those childhood fantasies keep getting in the way!  
  
Anyways, I better start practicing my line.  
  
" Father, mother, if you really love me, then you have to accept me for who I am! "  
  
I'm a born thespian, Benjamin. The theatre awaits me as much as St. Mungo's. I wonder if they fancy insane artistes?  
  
Wait a minute. Something is wrong.  
  
The lads decided a little too fast. Neville even looked as if he doesn't know what he's talking about, for goodness sakes.  
  
Harry didn't tell them to suggest the shifter declaration, did he?  
  
I wish!  
  
…whoops, that slipped.  
  
Judging on what I have been thinking about these past few weeks, I reckon that my masculinity is dwindling by a thread, and my gender preference swinging on a balance.  
  
  
  
December 18  
  
I asked Harry if he trained the lads to suggest the idea.  
  
" What idea? "  
  
Don't play dumb.  
  
" Well, I did mention it once, but…"  
  
I told him I wanted a direct answer.  
  
Are you a shifter and do you like me?  
  
His answer?  
  
" Yes and yes? "  
  
Oh lord. Here we go.  
  
  
  
A/N: I really am sorry that this is too short. Please tell me if the quality of the fic is decreasing, because I can't tell for myself. I promise to update faster the next time.  
  
For the next part, Draco's family reacts to the award-winning line and Harry, well, he's up to something.  
  
Thanks for reading this, and I hope you enjoyed this part. If not, please tell me so. 


	8. Chapter 8

The Diary of Draco Malfoy – Chapter 8  
  
A/N: This has one uncensored very bad word. Thank you for the reviews, never imagined in the whole of my existence that I would reach the 100 mark. God Bless you and happy reading!  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, and any of the characters with the exception of Ethan, Uncle Brandon and Dr. Spoons. The latter is just a mere figment of my imagination, while the remaining two are considered properties of Mark Burnett and their mothers.  
  
  
  
December 19  
  
I decided to pick my brain and tell Uncle Brandon absolutely everything.  
  
He asked me, " Did you, by any chance, see the new 1272 Malfoy Code of Law? "  
  
He said that we are to be exiled to Peru. My semi-masticated sausage flew out of my mouth and plopped gently on his hair.  
  
A lovely fashion statement, Benjamin, is what it is.  
  
He was more than annoyed to find pig meat tangled upon his raven locks. "It has turned out, sausage-spitter, that they have removed the law against "influencing any Malfoy, regardless of age and status. "  
  
What an unbelievable stroke of luck.  
  
"They thought it couldn't be done. A psychologist just proved the fact that gender transition starts from three months. "  
  
Oh. It does? Then…  
  
"A psychologist named Sir Ethan Knight, I believe, was the one responsible." He swooned.  
  
They knew already. Smart.  
  
Anyways, he hoped for the rule "no public display of affection" to be abolished, too, but of to no avail.  
  
"What's so bad about it, is that I want to see some shifter action! "  
  
I'll just quietly let that pass. My brain cannot take the mental image.  
  
The problem now is Sir Sirius. Harry almost died when Sir Sirius jokingly punched him on the back. How much more tomorrow?  
  
  
  
December 20  
  
Harry came back. No fracture, no mourners carrying a large pink coffin ( maybe I do love to exaggerate a bit on the shifter issue ), not even a blood-soaked bandage.  
  
I asked what Sir Sirius' reaction was.  
  
"He just said that he needs to find a wife fast, unless you plan on giving birth to a lad. "  
  
What the hell?!  
  
" It was a joke. "  
  
Some joke!  
  
He laughed. I can guess that the idea of male pregnancy did cross his mind.  
  
" Anyway, he figured that if you get kicked out of your manor, which is very possible, you can live with us. "  
  
Don't tell me. He said that I can sleep on your bed.  
  
" Now that you mention it…"  
  
Harry!  
  
" Draco. We have seventeen sleeping chambers. "  
  
Right.  
  
"All are used, and only mine has an extra bed. "  
  
Damn.  
  
  
  
December 21  
  
I really admire Harry for helping me. Hell, even if it is done to pursue his own goals, I still admire him. I might even like him, if only, well, if only I would stop denying to myself that I'm truly a shifter.  
  
Tomorrow, I shall recite my line to the whole of my family. I have to admit, I am afraid of what my father shall do to me.  
  
Of course, there is that danged whip. And I can always be poked severely with the many fencing swords he owns, so there's no telling if I shall live to see another day or not.  
  
What is better? Dying without lying to yourself or living a life of hypocrisy and with a madwoman?  
  
I reckon the first one. Oh, well, as the Irish lad himself used to tell me, "say your prayers".  
  
If I ever get through tomorrow alive, I promise, Lord, no fornication.  
  
Amen.  
  
  
  
December 22  
  
I live.  
  
Well, hurting, but my soul is still here, and my hair is still silky soft, so I still live.  
  
The wedding was canceled. The Browns do not want Lavender associating with the likes of me. " A sinful monster who shall rot in hell along with the Jewish and the gypsies."  
  
Speak for yourselves, you bunch of big mammaried, prejudiced, tumble- starved scums.  
  
I always wanted to say that.  
  
Anyway, I was hit numerous times ( about 15, but who's counting? ) in my bulls-eye spot, the arse. Surprisingly, that's about it.  
  
I'm free.  
  
And it all began with a too unusual conversation with Harry Potter.  
  
First, Harry asked me about you. Three days after admitting he likes me, and he's already prying like a lover. Tsk tsk.  
  
Then, Lavender suddenly sat on my lap while we were "conversing about the theory of the world as a sphere".  
  
Silly and impossible as it might sound, that's all I could think of.  
  
I said, Lavender, I cannot see Harry with your two big things blocking the way.  
  
She smiled. I was reminded of my dentist, Dr. Spoons. Good gravy, he would die in his sleep screaming.  
  
Lavender stroked my chest and almost went downwards.  
  
" Tell me you love me. "  
  
No.  
  
" Then we'll be sitting here all day, won't we, Potter? "  
  
How dare she!  
  
So I got a little mad. 'Don't call him that. You have no respect.'  
  
She slapped my arm. Hard. If I could only wring her neck, I would have done it.  
  
" Then say, ' I love you, Lavender.' "  
  
Lavender's mad, and I was glad.  
  
But it didn't leave me much choice. Father was just upstairs.  
  
No complain, no whip, he once said. Apparently, I wasn't so confident with my line anymore.  
  
The trauma got better of me. I muttered, without thinking, Fine. I love you, Harry…oh bloody hell!  
  
Lavender screamed, " What?!! "  
  
Harry was smiling. " What?! "  
  
I didn't know exactly what to do, so I joined the bandwagon. " What? "  
  
" You're a fucking chancer! " Lavender yelled.  
  
So much for the speech I prepared. Oh, and watch your mouth, young lady!  
  
Harry turned spiteful. "You're damned right he is! "  
  
Father, bothered by what he thought were cats that got loose, barged in the living room with, much to my chagrin, a large chunk of plywood.  
  
And the rest, my friend, is history.  
  
Now, if you would excuse me, I have to soak my raw skin in salty water.  
  
  
  
December 23  
  
Father was still mad at me, so I really had no choice but to keep quiet the whole of the time.  
  
But, finally, during supper, he gruffly asked, " Who is he? "  
  
It seemed vague. Who is what?  
  
" The lad. "  
  
He did not want to be precise. It probably disgusted him, and I probably disgusted him, too, but I did not have the courage to say so.  
  
No one in particular, I said.  
  
" It can't be no one. How else would you have known that you are…like you are now? "  
  
Stuck. Another flawless execution.  
  
" It's Harry, isn't it? I always thought you felt something for that boy. It never occurred to me that it will be…that kind of feeling, though. Shame. "  
  
And with that killer of a statement he left the room.  
  
Good gravy. Was I that obvious?  
  
So maybe I liked him. A little bit.  
  
  
  
December 24  
  
Harry invited me to go to the Christmas ball with him tomorrow.  
  
No, really. With everyone in town hearing it, in fact. Shouted across the meeting room, " Draco, would you be my date for the ball? "  
  
Good gracious. He was lucky father found his ways admirable. " That's a courageous young beast you have there. "  
  
I don't know what he means by "beast" though.  
  
The lads smiled at each other and nudged at Harry. And the others, well, I don't want to know what they were thinking.  
  
What was funny about it, actually, was that, it's so straightforward and honest. Not even a hint of malice or lust. He's not looking for anything after the ball, if you know what I mean.  
  
That's what I want love to be, remember?  
  
Not that I'm saying that it is "love". No.  
  
I think I like him. A larger bit.  
  
Well, I suppose there is nothing else I could do but to dress up real nice for tomorrow, am I right, Benjamin?  
  
Of course I am. I always am.  
  
And, no, Draco, he will not show up in a kirtle.  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Yey! Yey! My writer's block is cured!  
  
Anyways, thank you, again, and this time, before you go click that button ( I hope you do click it ), please tell me what you want to happen next. Just so you know, this will be a smut-free publication, because I owe it all to The Man Upstairs.  
  
No, not Mr. Johnson. You have been watching too many "Whose Line Is It Anyway? " shows.  
  
However, I did not say that there will not be some above-waistline…show of affection.  
  
Ehehehe…you know what I mean.  
  
Got closets? 


	9. Chapter 9

The Diary of Draco Malfoy  
  
By: Celestinne  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters with the exception of Uncle Brandon and Gabriel, the male pixie. :P  
  
A/N: Sorry it took so long. Writer's block…again. But I plan on updating the last two or three chapters before June, so if it's short, well, it would get lengthy. Hope you have a lovely time reading.  
  
  
  
Chapter 9  
  
December 25  
  
Harry spent the whole of the feast satisfying my family's urge to interrogate about his well-being and staring at my low-slung leather trousers and deliciously flat tummy.  
  
Before the mushrooms were brought out, father managed to extract this answer from Harry:  
  
" I have never kissed anyone before with the exception of Theodore. "  
  
" Theodore? Who, pray tell, is Theodore? " I prodded. My eyes narrowed into slits and my potatoes suffered a long hard beating.  
  
It turned out that Theodore was simply his pet pig.  
  
How was I to know that he was *that* affectionate to animals?  
  
After that, mother popped another one of those questions. " Do you have a place to call your own and a land, or two, to rule? "  
  
It sounded like a children's rhyme, but that is just me.  
  
Sir Sirius grinned. " He has eleven lands to choose from, and about the same number of castles and mansions. We ensure you that young Sir Malfoy here would continue living in the lap of luxury. "  
  
I was struck by the way he directed his answer to me. " Eh? Are you referring to me, sir? "  
  
Uncle Brandon rolled his eyes towards the back of his ego-inflated head.  
  
" Drakie is a little naïve and clueless when it comes to things such as this. Bear with him. "  
  
Mother nodded. " I agree. I reckon he does not even know that he is obviously falling for Harry! "  
  
The whole of the table started laughing their arses off. Having been outnumbered by those goons, I just scowled and continue eating.  
  
Harry beamed at me. I did not have the courage to knock his teeth out.  
  
In public view, that is. Keep those pearly whites to yourself, pretty boy.  
  
Anyways, after the hilarity ( at my expense ) subsided, mother, again, started to elaborate on this affair.  
  
" I would like you to know that Draco prefers saffron and beige for their wedding robes, by the way. "  
  
I groaned. " Mother. It's off-white, not beige. There is a distinct line that differentiates those two colors, beige having more brown tones than the former. Besides, why should they care about a matter as trivial as that? Honestly, now. "  
  
They all looked at each other, apparently amused at what I just said.  
  
Harry sighed. " You are right, Sir Brandon. He is that clueless. "  
  
How dare he!  
  
" I certainly am not! "  
  
" Harry, why don't you tell him right now? There's no use of continuing this conversation without his knowledge of it. " Sir Sirius pointed out.  
  
Shrugging to himself, Harry reached for a small box in his pocket and threw it at my direction. It landed on the gravy boat.  
  
I arched my eyebrow and started fishing it out with my fork. " Great. Now I have to compensate for your bad aim! What's in it, anyway? I would really want a male pixie named Gabriel, you know. "  
  
More sighs. Father banged his head on the table repeatedly.  
  
And they say I'm stupid.  
  
After what seemed to be an eternity, I finally managed to dig out the box without staining my clean fingernails. Sir Sirius commented that I was an extremely neat lad.  
  
" No. He's just really vain. " Uncle Brandon clarified.  
  
Runs in the family.  
  
Anyway, when I opened it, I saw a beautiful golden ring encrusted with emeralds and diamonds. The inscription read: HP & DM.  
  
So my brain was out on holiday at that time. I have no clue what it meant. Call me romantically-challenged if you must.  
  
Oh, the embarrassment. I remember cracking the unintentional joke, " What's this? How Perfectly and Dashingly Marvelous? "  
  
The rest of them, even some people from the other tables, wailed and stared at me in disbelief.  
  
Harry was bewildered. " Uh, it means Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy? Goodness, Draco, it's amazing how you survived all these years without falling in an open privy or something to that extent! "  
  
Then it finally became clear. Betrothal. Marriage. Harry Potter was asking for my hand in marriage, and the whole of my family already knew.  
  
" Oh…." I said, rubbing my chin not unlike a philosopher who just discovered that the world is in fact THE center of the universe.  
  
Or something like that.  
  
Father slapped his forehead. " He finally got it. Thank God. I thought he would come up with another one of those… stupid retorts. "  
  
Eh?  
  
Mother laughed. " So, what do you think? Would you like to be wedded to him? Your father and I recently decided it to be a wonderful idea. "  
  
My jaw hung open. Me? Wedded to Harry? Father thinking it a wonderful idea?!  
  
Bloody hell!  
  
Uncle Brandon added an afterthought. " Bedded! Don't forget bedded by Harry! "  
  
Shifter action. I choked at the concept.  
  
I was then the center of attention. The whole room was waiting for my response, my affirmation or negation, of what controversies would be sprouting out the minute I utter the words…  
  
" So, what castle shall we be in, Harry? "  
  
Cheers and howls erupted from all the sides of the room. They all know how dense I have been?! The disgrace of it all! My reputation of being a suave, clever, not to mention wickedly handsome lad was gone with the wind!  
  
Well, frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.  
  
I am to wed Harry on New Year's Eve!  
  
~  
  
  
  
A/N: Thanks for the reviews! If you think this fic is moving too fast, it is actually not. They all think of marriage being the instant result of their admittance simply because they are the only two shifters, and Draco came out of the closet because of Harry and vice versa. Besides that, it is obvious that Draco adores the lad. His father's reluctance was gone with a little help from Draco's mother, who was a little invisible in the last two chapters, Uncle Brandon and Sir Sirius.  
  
If it makes no sense, hey, this is a fluffy humor/romance fic relayed as diary entries!  
  
Anyway, if you think there is not enough slash in here, then just wait for the last two or three chapters. I am not much of a sap, so bear with me the same way they did to Draco.  
  
Oh, and the "gone with the wind" thing, if you haven't watched it, the "well, frankly, my dear…" line was said by the leading girl Whasisname. ( it's an old film! ) Just thought I would spice things up a little by bringing a little modernity! 


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